


Maybe Mugs would Help

by hotarubi_e



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Keith (Voltron), Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Depictions of Illness, He just wants to know how you mix up turpentine and coffee, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Major Character Injury, Paramedic Lance, Poor Keith is in for a helluva ride, Sickfic, Whump, lance is so done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 15:54:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11188419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotarubi_e/pseuds/hotarubi_e
Summary: When Keith accidentally drinks turpentine instead of his coffee, it’s down to his paramedic boyfriend Lance to try and get him help - something that would be easier if Keith was just honest about his symptoms. Maybe if he was, they could have avoided the vomiting blood and seizures..--This is from my illness and injury Tumblr blog





	Maybe Mugs would Help

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm supposed to be finishing my long fics but HAVE THIS INSTEAD. I wrote it ages ago, and finally decided to post it on here as well as Tumblr *thumbs up* It was meant to be an idea for chapter two of The Best Days Always Come From You, but it turned hella whumpy, and developed a life of its own. Then chapter two changed anyway, so here we are with a stand-alone whump fic of irresponsible artist Keith and Totally Done™ Lance.
> 
> Enjoy! ~

Lance was going to _kill_ him. He was going to walk right into the ER, grab him by the throat and throttle until he was dead. He was going to kill him. He was going to -

 

‘Hey, babe..’

 

Lance was going to cry. ‘What the hell were you _thinking?!’_ he whined, falling down onto the floor by Keith’s feet, not caring for a moment about the questionable hygiene of the ER waiting room. ‘You could have died.. you could have _killed_ yourself!’

 

Keith coughed heavily into his sleeve, rubbing it down his cheek. ‘Yeah, but I didn’t,’ he wheezed, and Lance couldn’t miss the way he panted around the words. He reached a hand up to smack Keith on the side of the head, desperate the wipe the stupid smile from his face. ‘Babe, chill out, I’m alright,’

 

‘No you’re _not,_ Keith! You swallowed turps! Who the hell mixes up turpentine and coffee?!’

 

‘They looked the same..’ Keith insisted weakly, fighting to keep another cough from hacking through his chest. It hurt to even _breathe,_ let alone bring up mucus. ‘I was using brown paint and they were both in jars..’

 

‘Wh- why the hell did you have coffee in a jar?!’ Lance felt the strength leave him as Keith just shrugged. God give him the strength to not kill his stupid, _stupid_ boyfriend before the turps could. ‘You know what? Soon as we get out of here I’m taking you to the store and buying you some goddamned mugs, Keith. Maybe then you won’t drink fucking _poison.’_

 

‘Heh.. well look at it this way - I seem to be doing pretty good for saying I drank poison, huh?’

 

‘Just shut up and let me check your pulse, Keith..’

 

Keith did as he asked, shuffling slightly to give Lance better access to the vein on the inside of his wrist. He suppressed another harsh cough into the back of his free hand, wincing as the suspiciously growing pang in his stomach gave a significantly more violent twang. He was pretty sure that was the kind of symptom he should alert a doctor about, but.. he didn’t want to worry Lance any more than he already had. 

 

‘Okay, it’s a little slow, but not like, dangerously. Your cough is worrying me, but if you haven’t been vomiting and there’s no pain in your abdomen, then you’re probably okay to sit here a little longer,’ Lance said after a moment, letting go of Keith’s wrist and letting him pull it back into the safety of his sweater sleeve. ‘There is no pain, right, Keith?’

 

Keith looked up into Lance’s face, spotting the hopeful sheen hiding behind his eyes. ‘Uh, y-yeah.. no pain,’ 

 

He hated himself immediately as another shot ran through his belly, jolting him in his seat. His hands flew up to hold himself, and he suppressed a groan beneath another cough. 

 

‘Keith? You okay?’

 

‘F-feeling kinda sick..’ he knew it was just diverging from the problem, but if he was honest, the sharp pains were scaring him. They were growing more intense, and the thought that something could actually be wrong with him was terrifying. 

 

‘Sick? Okay, just take deep breaths, baby. I’m gonna check your forehead for a fever,’ Lance told him, and just as he had said, Keith soon felt a cool hand pressing against his temples. He sighed and leaned into it, revelling in the way it felt against his skin. ‘You’re kinda hot, Keith.. how else are you feeling? Any trouble seeing?’ 

 

Keith nodded, missing the sensation of Lance’s hand on his face the moment it was removed. ‘Yeah, it’s kinda fuzzy and.. a bit black? Around the edges,’

 

‘What about your breathing? You sound wheezy,’

 

‘’m fine,’ he was lying again, he knew, but he didn’t want to tell Lance about the way his throat felt like it was constricting, how he had to fight past the swelling for every breath.

 

‘Keith, don’t lie to me, you’re breathing really fast and shallow - it’s gotten worse since I got here,’ Lance snapped, leaning back on his haunches to look Keith in the face - he had since dropped forwards in his seat, head hanging down on his chest. Lance reached out a hand to feel Keith’s throat, frowning at the resistance he could feel there every time Keith took an inwards breath, as though he was fighting an obstruction. 

 

Without warning Keith lurched forwards in his seat, groaning high and pitiful as his hands wrapped tighter around his belly, body slumping into Lance’s side. 

 

‘K-Keith!’ Lance reached out to grab him, steadying him in his seat, but Keith didn’t seem to hear him. A low moan was still making its way from his throat, and his fingers were beginning to claw at his sweater, trying to get to the skin of his abdomen beneath. ‘Are you in pain?! Does it hurt? Keith!’

 

‘L-Lance.. I - I don’t.. f-feel good,’ Keith whined, voice weak and thready as he panted for enough breath to stop the spinning in his head. His throat was getting tighter, to the point that he could barely get air past now, and the pain in his stomach had gone from intermittent to all-encompassing in a matter of seconds. ‘A-ah -!’ He pitched forwards, fingernails digging into the flesh of his sides as another stab, ten times more severe than even the constant pain, wracked through him. It burned up his throat, turning the dull ache he had experienced before into a fire he _needed_ to be put out. 

 

‘Okay, okay, babe, listen to me - listen to me, Keith. You’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be just fine, I promise,’ Lance’s voice wavered in and out of his hearing, sounding so close and then so far, as though submerged under water. He wanted to grab hold of it, keep it close as though it could alleviate some of the pain that had struck him from nowhere. But he couldn’t - it was getting further and further away. Keith whimpered.

 

’S-shit!’ Lance dove to his feet, hands still pressed against Keith’s arms as he fell limp against him. He had to get help before Keith got any worse. He pushed Keith hurriedly against the wall and turned away from him before he could change his mind, eyes scanning for any doctor he could find. Keith needed emergency medical treatment _now,_ and Lance was not going to let his need to hold his hand get in the way of that. ‘Hey!’ he yelled, spotting a familiar white coat as it turned past the painfully empty waiting room. ‘Hey, I need help over here!’

 

Keith’s guts were splitting in half. It was the only explanation for the fire raging through him that cut down everything in its path. The only feasible reason for why he could taste iron so strong in the back of his throat - his organs had ripped in two and he was going to cough them up. He hacked, folding in on himself to give them an easier time coming out. If he could just get his organs up then the pain would stop, would go away and let him sleep, let him forget all about this. But then he _was_ coughing something up, something thick and sticky and tasting so strong of metal it made him gag even as he threw up all over his knees. 

 

Even _he_ could hear the pathetic whine that left his throat, and forcing an eye to open just a crack, he looked down at what had come from his gut. 

 

His knees were coated red. 

 

A breath, frighteningly small and so desperate it burned, fought its way down his throat. Blood. He had thrown up blood. So much of it that he had painted the waiting room and himself in its hazily vibrant hue. 

 

‘L..Lan-..’

 

He couldn’t get the word out, couldn’t make himself speak. He felt himself slip, his hold on consciousness weakening even through his feeble attempts to grasp it. Another breath made it through his teeth, but he didn’t feel it go down his throat. In hindsight, he wouldn’t have known if it was because there was no space in his throat for air anymore, or whether he had simply lost consciousness before it could reach his lungs. 

 

—-

 

‘Y-you gotta help, my boyfriend - he swallowed turps, he’s getting really sick,’

 

‘Okay, okay, calm down McClain, show me where he is,’ the doctor instructed, grasping Lance by the shoulders as his breath came in hitching shots. Lance nodded and turned back to the waiting room doors, pushing them open with his fist. Only to see Keith lying prostrate along the floor in a puddle of his own blood. 

 

‘K..Keith..’

 

The world stopped. Everything stopped moving, and in that moment Lance didn’t think it would ever start again. He didn’t _want_ it to, not without Keith by his side. 

 

But then the doctor was rushing past him, coat flying like in cheesy tv dramas as he fell by Keith’s prone form, expert hands rolling him onto his side so he wouldn’t choke. And there were fingers at his pulse points, hands checking for breath, and when none was found calls were made for a ventilator so it could breathe for him. Really, Lance didn’t have to do anything but stand there and crumble, let the doctors take control, but every part of his being yearned to help. Every fibre of who he was wanted nothing more than to be the one holding Keith back from the edge he had seen so fit to traverse. But _no_ part of Lance was consenting to move, and so until they got Keith up and onto a stretcher he stayed stock still, staring wide eyed and terrified at the deep blood red painting Keith from chin to feet. 

 

They got the ventilator in. Lance didn’t even remember making it from the waiting room to the ER really, but there he was, standing over Keith as he watched his chest rise and fall with breaths that weren’t his own. A hand stroked down Keith’s face, and for a moment Lance wanted to hate it, to brush it away until he realised it was his, moving without any consent from his brain to authorise the action. 

 

Restless buzz filled the room around him, doctors and nurses going this way and that, checking charts, reading screens, injecting so many drugs Lance could scream into the IV poking into Keith’s white elbow. Because it was white - as white as the sheet he lay upon, and Lance had never looked so dark against him. It was like someone had turned up the contrast on real life, washed Keith out and put Lance under the sun. 

 

He looked dead. Blue-grey and so horribly white that Lance felt the need to puke, to be sick and throw up the entire nights events, but he pushed it down, favouring instead the way his fingers curled in Keith’s damp hair. 

 

Until the first seizure hit. 

 

It rocked Keith’s body up so sharply Lance _heard_ his limbs crack. Head thrashed to the side, arms tense and straining, his chest bucked and back arched until there was no room in his muscles left to accommodate the contractions, and his body buckled back down onto the bed in a violent snap. 

 

Sharp, muffled gurgles fought against the respirator to leave his throat, grunting and groaning around the intruding tube, his face crumpling and twitching in what Lance could only assume was agonising pain. But there was no relief from the seizure, as another wave hit Keith with an intensity that left the first in the dust, thrusting his body so violently up into the air that Lance had to catch his shoulders and hold him back so he didn’t rip himself away from the machine that was breathing for him. 

 

His limbs shuddered, neck pulling tight as his head whipped back and down into the pillow beneath him, until hands Lance couldn’t place were pulling it from beneath Keith’s head, tossing it somewhere out of sight. Keith reared into the air again, his spine cracking once, twice, several more times as the muscles bucked and snapped around the bone, pulling him this way and that before once again he dropped like a weight into the embrace of the bed. 

 

Lance felt hands on his own shoulders, trying to yank him away, but he fought them, wanting, _needing_ to stay by Keith, to hold him steady as his body rebelled against him, tried everything in its power to break him in two. 

 

‘Lance, Lance -! You need to leave, right now. There’s nothing you can do for him, you’ve gotta let us handle this,’ 

 

He knew the voice, recognised its cadence, but couldn’t bring himself to care who it belonged to as he cast out a hand, wayward in strength, to push them away. He wasn’t leaving Keith, wasn’t letting him out of his sight while the seizures wracked his body into oblivion. It was all he could do to keep himself steady, but Keith’s needs were more important, more pressing as the only thing keeping him situated on the bed was the tanned pair of hands holding him down. 

 

Another set of convulsions ripped through Keith’s body, sending a spike shooting across the screen monitoring his vitals, heart rate jumping wildly in both his chest and on the machine. Keith’s ribs shook, weakening in strength before collapsing back down again, the spasm mercifully shorter and softer in its severity. But another and then another yet shook him, each taking yet more toll on his already damaged body. 

 

It was like they were never ending. Lance couldn’t even breathe through the fear anymore, and when Keith’s body gave a final stuttering shake, he thought he couldn’t ever have handled another wracking spasm. But Keith was still now, head lolled to the side, heart jumping and sharp but slowing by the second, fingers still twitching with left over energy, tense and demanding. 

 

He was through it. Keith had gotten through the seizures, but now his body was done, so wrought with exhaustion it would have been a miracle if he could move even if he were conscious. Lance was so thankful he wasn’t that he wanted to cry. 

 

Hands were there again, all over Keith as they straightened him out, righting his limbs still strewn wild from the force, and Lance finally let the fingers gripping his shirt pull him away from the bedside. 

 

‘He’s gonna be okay, Lance,’ the voice said again, and Lance found himself more receptive to the presence of another person. Becky. A nurse Lance had always liked, and known to be the most capable in her field. He allowed himself to be drawn down into a hug, but his eyes never strayed from the face of the man lying cold and unmoving before him. Keith had made it through. He was going to be fine. 

 

—-

 

Keith groaned weakly, eyes fluttering open and shut as he fought the pull of sleep, pain - dulled from before, but still there in force - muddling his fledgling senses as he pushed into wakefulness. 

 

Fingers stroked down his cheek, startling him for a moment, until recognition as sharp as it was welcome filtered into his mind. 

 

‘…L-Lan..ce?’

 

His voice was barely a whisper, a tiny missive thrown out into space, but Lance seemed to catch it, holding it tight as he wrote his own response through the air. 

 

‘Hey, yeah, I’m here, baby. I’m right here,’ 

 

The fingers intensified as they ran down his face, and with a show of strength Keith hadn’t thought himself capable of, he opened his eyes, greeted by the sight of Lance’s blurry, tear-stained face. ‘..W-what.. what h-happened…’

 

‘Oh god, it’s so good to see you awake,’ Lance’s words were a sigh, breathed soft against Keith’s side. But they were accompanied by sobs and sniffles, and Keith couldn’t help the feeling that he wanted to hurt whatever had caused those sounds to come from him. ‘You don’t remember what happened, baby?’

 

Keith moved his head in what he hoped was an adequate shake. 

 

‘You swallowed turps by accident - they had to put you on a ventilator ‘cause you couldn’t breathe on your own. You.. you had a whole bunch of seizures, baby.. I thought I -‘ he coughed, head hanging so that Keith couldn’t see his eyes. He didn’t like that. He wanted to see Lance’s eyes. ‘I thought I was gonna lose you, Keith.. I’ve never been so scared in my life,’

 

‘’m s-sorry..’

 

‘No, no, don’t apologise, honey, it’s all gonna be okay now. You’re gonna be okay,’ 

 

And Keith believed it. Despite the ache in his chest and burn in his lungs, he knew Lance was telling the truth as he lowered his body down into Keith’s side, arms wrapping around him in a hug that voided every moment of hurt it had taken to get there.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on Tumblr! (or send me a request for more whump) http://hotarubi-e.tumblr.com
> 
> Comments and kudos are life, so pleasepleaseplease! <3


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